


New Mattress

by midnighteverlark



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Apartment, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompt, breaking in the mattress, post college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnighteverlark/pseuds/midnighteverlark
Summary: Will and Mike move into their first apartment after college and celebrate by breaking in the mattress (prompt from Tumblr)





	New Mattress

Will wanders the apartment, looking over their progress so far with a proud eye. Jonathan’s photographs and some of Will’s drawings are pinned to the walls here and there. A lot of movie and band and nerd posters are in the living room, string lights draped along the top of the wall. Actually, string lights are kind of everywhere. Will had them up in his room back in Hawkins, and took them with him to the dorms when they went to college. Now it just doesn’t feel like home without some, though it’s been years since he needed them on to sleep at night. There’s a bookshelf in the bedroom and two in the living room, half-filled with their collection of movies, books, games, and miscellaneous assortments of collectables. The couch in the living room is as familiar to Will as the back of his hand. It’s the old couch from the Wheeler’s basement - tattered, ugly, and orange, draped with blankets. Karen practically begged Mike to remove it from her household. There’s a lava lamp in the corner of the kitchen and one in the living room. The coffee machine has been set up beside the sink, and there are alphabet magnets on the fridge.

The apartment was built somewhere in the mid-to-late-’50s, which essentially means that some call it “rustic” and “cozy,” and some call it “tiny,” “outdated,” and “an electrical hazard.” But it’s not the apartment’s fault that the wiring and plumbing isn’t exactly cutting-edge.

The building itself isn’t huge - only about fifteen apartments are stacked inside the three levels, and parking is in the alley that wraps around the sides and back. If Will stands at the kitchen or bedroom window and cranes his neck, he can see where their cars are parked. Their front door exits to the side of the building, where an iron staircase zig-zags up the side of the brick building, giving access to the porches on each level. Looking out the front door, you can see some thin trees and the the narrow road below. He’s pretty sure their neighbors hate them already; you can hear the metallic clanks and booms every time anyone goes up or down those stairs, and they’ve been up and down all day.

Will steps over cardboard boxes as he wanders the space. He sticks his head into the tiny bay window above the kitchen sink. The kitchen window kind of juts out into the back alley by about a foot, giving him a sort of fishbowl view of the outside world. It’s not quite snowing, but the air is so cold that tiny crystalline flakes are forming in mid-air, glittering, turning the alley full of cars into something almost magical. Or maybe that’s just because today is today. Moving day. The first day they’ve ever had their own home.

He nearly knocks over the sad little houseplants in the window when he pulls back. His mother gave them to him for the apartment, saying she was afraid she’d kill them if she kept them. They live in the little fishbowl window now, trailing green arms down towards the copper sink.

It’s not a huge apartment. It’s pretty small, actually; you can nearly touch both sides of the kitchen by spreading out your arms. But it’s not like they needed more than one bedroom. There’s the bedroom, a bathroom, the narrow kitchen, a living room, and that’s about it. The bathroom has those ugly brown-ish pink-ish tiles above the bathtub typical of older homes. The kitchen counter is a dark brown-ish... faux wood? Faux stone? Can’t really tell. Whatever it is, it’s peeling up at the corners. There’s no washer or dryer; the laundromat is a block down the street. They’re in the edges of the downtown area of the small-ish town that’s a long-ish drive from their erstwhile college. It’s not a big city, but still much bigger than Hawkins.

Will loves it. And he doesn’t mind that it’s cramped. In the dorms they had exactly one room and not even their own bathroom. And - and! He’s wearing Mike down about getting a pet. Ideally they’d get a dog, but Mike is right. Dogs are much harder to have in apartments than in houses. You have to take them out on a leash every single time they need out, and there’s not a lot of room for them to run around and get exercise. Will could settle for a cat, though. He likes cats okay. Just give him a few weeks to pester his boyfriend about it. Watch, they’ll have a kitten by Christmas.

Will jumps when arms wind around his waist, then leans back into the embrace.

“I’m done,” Mike announces. “I’m not touching a single box until tomorrow morning.”

“Agreed.”

Mike pretends to fall asleep standing up, fake-snoring into Will’s hair, and Will rolls his eyes and jostles him with an elbow. “We have the bed set up, right?”

“Well...”

They both look to the living room. The wooden bedframe is still leaning against one wall, disassembled.

Mike side-steps them both to the bedroom doorway and peers in. Their new mattress is there, resting squarely atop the box spring.

“Good enough,” he says, and Will laughs.

They had to buy a new mattress. It wasn’t something they thought about until approximately 3pm today. On campus, the beds came with the dorms. The fact that they’d have to buy their own slipped their mind entirely until one of their moving-day-helpers suddenly straightened with a frown and said, “Where’s the bed?”

Which set off a frantic last-minute trip to purchase a mattress.

It’s been a helluva day. They were up at 5am to load everything up into cars and the truck, meet with the friends and family that volunteered to help, drive to the apartment, meet the office staff, get the keys, unpack the truck, etcetera, etcetera. And then, once all their shit had been moved from truck to apartment, they had to go out into the freezing cold - again - to return the truck, come home again, feed everyone pizza for their trouble, and keep unpacking. Not to mention that they had to do some grade-A acting to convince the landlady that they were brothers.

In short, it’s been stressful. But it’s quieter now. The paperwork is done - at least for the moment. Friends and family have gone home. The pizza is packed away into the fridge. The space heater is on, humming quietly and breathing toasty air out into the chilly apartment. Will only just got comfortable with using heaters like that, a decade after the Exorcism, and he’s glad he can look at one without tensing up. It’s freezing in here; without the little space heater they’d be icicles. They can’t quite tell if their heat isn’t turned on yet, or if it’s just always this cold.

“We could watch a movie.”

Mike considers this, releasing Will to stretch. “Mm. Or we could just pass out.”

“Pass out.” Will is already heading for the bedroom. “Definitely.”

He swings around halfway to double-check that the front door is locked. Old habits, old paranoia, all that jazz.

The shower is an adventure in and of itself. There are about three knobs, one of which seems to fill no apparent function, and the one that says _hot_ is a motherfucking liar. But they do eventually get it figured out, and to be quite honest, soaping off in the hot water is the best feeling Will could ask for right now. After a long day of running back and forth, sweating, getting grease and dirt on his hands, carrying heavy boxes and stepping in slush puddles, he can think of nothing better than getting out of a hot shower, brushing his teeth and collapsing onto the mattress. Which is exactly what they do.

Mike drags the space heater into the bedroom and leaves the string lights plugged in, as has been tradition for the past decade. It’s warm, thanks to the heater, and the lights give off a soft pink-tinted glow. There are little piles of boxes everywhere, some of them broken open with their contents a mess on the floor, some still sealed with tape. The bed is an oasis in the chaos. There are blankets piled on top of the mattress, but it isn’t _made,_ per se. Which is plenty good enough for them.

They don’t have to think about kissing anymore. There was a time, years ago, when they’d hesitate before every kiss. Making sure it was okay, that the other still wanted this. They were so afraid that they might lean in and the other would flinch and say, _actually I’m not too sure about this. I think maybe we should just be friends. I don’t know if I can do this with you._

No such qualms now.

They’ve been kissing, easily, for a few minutes before Mike gets mischievous.

“Mike,” Will says in a half-laugh.

“What?” Mike continues grinding against him as if he has no idea what’s happening beneath the pile of blankets.

Will says, “I wanna go to sleep,” but he doesn’t reject the next kiss. Mike leans into him, ardent, and Will can’t help but laugh against his mouth.

“ _Mike,_ ” he says again, “I want to go to _sleep_. I’ve been hauling boxes up and down the stairs all day. I’m tired. I’m sore -”

Mike ignores him and cuts him off with another kiss. “We have our own apartment.”

Will’s eyes roll towards the ceiling, but a smile lights up on his face despite his best efforts. “Yeah. We do.” He pecks Mike on the lips and flops down on the pillow. “Now let’s sleep in it.”

“That’s the idea.”

This time Will’s sigh of protest stutters as Mike purposefully thrusts against him. It takes a grand total of five seconds before Will captures his wrists and rolls on top of him. Mike just grins, completely unperturbed, and leans up for an affectionate nuzzle.

“Our _own_ apartment,” he reiterates.

“Yup.”

“Which is legally ours, as in not our parents' and not a dorm.”

“Yes, love, I’m aware.”

Mike gives a sort of happy wriggle and Will caves with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I try.”

Mike resumes his grinding and this time Will presses back with a resigned roll of his eyes. Clearly Mike isn’t going to sleep any time soon. And if Mike can’t sleep, Will doesn’t get to sleep either. The price of love.

“This is our home. For real. Can you believe it? Would you have believed it if someone told you in high school?”

Will shakes his head. “I would have laughed in their face.”

They’ve never had a queen sized bed before. They’re used to their own childhood twin beds in Hawkins, and the dorm beds aren’t much better. Turns out, _twin XL_ doesn’t mean “a little bigger than a twin bed,” it just means, “hard to buy sheets for.” The only time they’ve ever slept in a big bed like this was their road trip a couple years ago, when they stopped at motels a few times between camping spots. So when Will rolls over and straddles Mike’s thighs, he’s kind of amazed that he actually had space to do that.

This time, it’s Will who grinds down into Mike, half exasperated and half affectionate. “This couldn’t have happened yesterday, _before_ we carried several thousand pounds worth of furniture and boxes up the stairs?”

Mike gestures flatly. “Apartment.”

He can’t help it. He grins. One last eye roll carries him down parallel with Mike, and then they’re kissing again and he gives it up. There are far worse ways to end a day, exhausted or not.

Off comes the old tee shirt that Mike sleeps in, now that it’s too ragged to wear during the day. Off comes the red long-sleeved pajama shirt gifted to Will for Christmas last year. Mike doesn’t even wait for Will; he shucks his pajama pants himself and leaves them in a bundle somewhere under the blankets. He’s impatient. Will dawdles intentionally, drawing out an open-mouthed kiss until Mike gives a huff and starts pushing Will’s boxers down his hips. It was getting too hot for clothes with the heater running, anyway.

Will’s hand slips between the blankets and deftly wraps itself around the fire-hot length of Mike’s cock. Mike’s head falls back at the first few strokes, and Will scoots himself back to get a better angle. The blankets bunch up around his thighs, leaving Mike’s torso exposed to the warming air. In the dim, pinkish glow of the rainbow of string lights above them, Will can’t tell if he can really see the freckles there or if that’s just his memory filling in. He knows where they are, after all. There’s a little constellation of them that fall from Mike’s shoulders, thickest on his arms, scattered across his chest and just one or two at his ribs. Most are a light caramel, barely perceptible. Like the ones on his cheeks and nose.

Mike makes a sound that’s equal parts confused and disgruntled, and Will chuckles at him and gestures to his suitcase. He got up to find lube. It’s Mike’s turn to laugh as Will digs through the suitcase, muttering curses as he locates several pairs of socks, an extra tube of toothpaste, and a spatula that didn’t quite make it into the kitchen boxes. Finally his hand closes around the plastic bottle and he returns.

Mike swipes the bottle out of his hand the second Will has some of the liquid smeared on his palm.

“Grabby,” Will grumbles, and gets back in position.

Mike wastes no time in coating his own fingers in lube as Will gets back to work. Before moving, he licks the tip of his finger and gives Will a quizzical glance.

“The regular one is packed away somewhere,” Will explains, and Mike shrugs and reaches around to brush his fingers along their target. Will settles his knees a little more firmly at either side of Mike’s ribs.

“Why pack the peach one though?”

“I couldn’t find the normal -”

“It’s fine, I’m just saying -”

“Okay, look, I can get up and go look for the other one if you want.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Mike grins up at him, wrist twisted as he gently works two fingers over the hard ring of muscle that’s just starting to soften, fluttering. Will swallows down the urge to push back into Mike’s touch. He’s having too much fun teasing him to give him that satisfaction yet.

“Well stop complaining then.” His pace speeds until Mike’s eyes flutter, and then he adds, “I could fuck you, you know.”

“I thought you were tired,” Mike sasses back.

Will is about to retort when Mike pushes up on an elbow, jostling them, and closes his teeth over Will’s lower lip.

“Let me,” Mike murmurs, and Will sinks back as Mike crawls forward to flip them. He settles over Will’s frame, a warm and solid presence, and Will hikes a knee up to brace against Mike’s torso. Giving his boyfriend better access.

Since they were shaky, unsure teenagers, whispering and nervous-laughing in Will’s room under the cover of dark, Mike has been nothing if not patient. And enthusiastic. Will made his progress in fits and starts of shaky courage, at once pushing himself onwards and holding himself back. Always hesitant, always halting, always afraid that Mike would turn away in disgust at the wrong word, the wrong touch. And yet he’d race forward in the moments in-between, when the doubts were muffled temporarily under hot-slick _want._ And Mike - patient, thorough Mike - waited through it all. Keeping pace with Will. Sitting back and kissing along his neck in his moments of hesitation, panting to keep up with him when the lust broke through. He has always, since that very first red-faced handjob, been a good learner. He took his time, he explored, he mapped out every bone and tendon and curve of Will’s body, learned every reaction. Will wonders sometimes if Mike knows his body better than he does.

It’s entirely possible.

Despite his earlier impatience, Mike is in no hurry here. He twists his arm at what must be an uncomfortable angle to reach between them, but he doesn’t make a single noise of complaint. Just settles onto the mattress and, for the first time tonight, sinks the tip of one finger into Will. Just up to the first knuckle. This time, Will does arch up into the touch, trying to coax him into moving faster. Will can go faster. He can take more. He knows it. He doesn’t mind a little bit of pain. Blame the Upside Down, blame the Mind Flayer, blame his own fucked up brain, blame whatever you want, but in the right mood, Will revels in a little bit of pain. Mike won’t hear of it, though - not unless it’s really intense and they’re both already lost in impulse. But right now, it’s gentle. Languid. Frustratingly slow - at least to Will.

“Mike,” he says, squirming, and Mike feigns ignorance.

“What?”

He keeps up his unhurried pace, tilting another dollop of lube into his fingers before dipping in, pulling back, pushing in again to the second and third knuckle this time. Will just lets his head loll back onto the blankets, eyes closed. There was a time - it feels so long ago now, another world, another life - when it took months and months for Will to allow this. Even with Mike, vulnerability can be difficult for him after what happened to him as a kid. Giving was easy. Touching Mike was easy. Receiving was another story. But they’re older now, and this is a practiced dance. Mike’s gentle push-and-pull turns to a steady pulse, and he waits far too long before adding a second finger.

“Mike,” Will repeats, and again Mike just says, “What?”

“You know what.” He grabs Mike’s face and pulls him down into something a little too rough to be called a kiss. “Michael. If you don’t move just a little faster I’m going to kill you.”

“‘Kay.”

In a flash, Mike has slipped off the bed and yanked Will to the edge of the mattress. Will’s breath stutters in surprise, and Mike smirks up at him from where he’s settled between Will’s knees. “I’ll move a little faster then.” He settles down into position, pulling Will’s thighs over his shoulders. “Lest I be murdered in my own bed.”

He can feel himself flushing, head-to-toes. The blood rushes just under the surface of his skin, turning his face red and his breath hard. Especially when he pulls his knees back at Mike’s gentle push, heels finding the hard edge of the box spring that protrudes just past the side of the mattress. He’s still not used to this. He may never be used to _this_.

Mike nuzzles between Will’s cheeks and licks a long stripe over the ring of muscle. Will’s eyes squeeze shut and he tells himself it’s not because he’s shy. He’s just focusing on -

_Oh._

Mike wasn’t kidding when he said he’d speed it up. He didn’t bother with the usual teasing and kitten-licks. Will is already half-prepared anyway, so Mike skips the introduction entirely and pushes his tongue in as far as he can. Hot, soft and wet with saliva and lube. Will makes a noise without meaning to and he feels Mike chuckle.

Mike tilts back an inch, twists two fingers up into Will until he’s panting again, and says, “Peach.”

“Shut up.”

Mike’s fingers press in, pull back, press in and curl. He tries again, patient as ever, until Will jolts with another unintentional groan. His tongue replaces his fingers in a heartbeat. The muscles of Will’s thighs begin to ache with tension, heels pressing hard into the edge of the box spring, and he releases his grip on the blankets to stroke himself a few times. He thinks Mike might be doing the same thing; he can feel the rhythmic bumps against the mattress as Mike works himself with one hand. The other hand grips Will’s ass, as if he’s about to go anywhere.

Will moves his own free hand to wind his fingers into Mike’s hair. It’s still damp from their shower, tamed - momentarily - from its usual state of curly disarray. As a teenager he used to daydream about digging his hands into that hair. Getting a good handful of half-curling waves and _tugging,_ firm but not sharp, until Mike moaned. He wasn’t completely oblivious. He knew Mike liked having his hair played with. He used to watch El comb through his hair with her fingers, jealousy bubbling like acid in his stomach. And once, when Will playfully tugged at an ebony lock to get his attention, Mike gave a sudden, short moan - and then turned very red and pretended nothing ever happened. And Will filed that away with special care. He remembered it - saved it. And later - nearly a year later, when they were first dating - he waited until they were making out. Pinned Mike to the wall. Wound the fingers of both hands into his hair and pulled, gentle and then a little harder until Mike moaned into his mouth.

Right now, Will wants to be fucked. And he knows exactly how to drive Mike up the wall until he gets what he wants.

He digs his free hand into Mike’s damp curls. Just combing through them at first, scratching at his scalp as Mike’s tongue thrusts into him. He waits until he feels Mike shiver, and then gently tangles his fingers into the nearly-dry hair just at the nape of his neck. Tugs, gently. Mike pauses just half a second before getting a better grip and continuing. He knows exactly what Will is doing, but he makes no move to stop him. Will’s hand moves to the side of Mike’s head, where the dampness is more acute, and gives a good hard tug. Not abrupt - it’s not meant to hurt. And it doesn’t seem to. At least, not judging by the ragged sound that comes up Mike’s throat. The vibration sends a gasp sucking past Will’s lips.

“Fuck me,” he says, and the result is near instantaneous. Mike shudders again, pulls his tongue from Will’s hole with a slick sound, and crawls onto the bed. Will scoots himself back until his head finds the pillows and Mike slips wordlessly over him, fitting like a puzzle piece.

Works every time.

Except -

Mike is halfway to a kiss when Will flips them, reveling once more in the width of the mattress as he kneels over his boyfriend on the messy blankets.

He’s too stubborn to let Mike be entirely right. He’s not _that_ tired.

He leans down, completing the kiss, and they both lean away at the same time. “Peach,” they say, and then Will laughs and buries his mouth against Mike’s again and they fumble for a moment trying to line themselves up. Mike locates the bottle - taking the extra few seconds to showcase the picture of a peach printed onto the label - and rubs lube onto himself, onto Will, onto himself again. Will shifts with impatience until he snaps the bottle closed and lies back, dark eyes glinting up at him through the semi-darkness.

He sinks back onto Mike’s dick steadily, without pausing to adjust until his thighs are flush with Mike’s hips. Mike rubs his sides and, as always, mutters concern about slowing down if he needs to. But Will doesn’t need to. That familiar warm ache of pleasure seeps through him, ancient and sweet and full of frantic energy. He waves away Mike’s concerns and rocks forward, settles back, readjusts his stance. Then he’s ready to go.

The bed doesn’t squeak. There’s no bed frame _to_ squeak, or bang against the wall, and the mattress and box spring are new and fresh and soft as clouds. Not a whisper of noise. Not even a creak. It’s magical.

The revelation is enough to push Will to move faster, seeing just how hard they can go until it makes some noise. Either Mike picks up on his train of thought, or he has no complaints about Will riding him with fierce abandon, because he pulses up into him beat-for-beat, head straining back into the pillows. Will’s stomach caves with every exhale, muscles clamping down on the friction and pressure.

He slows a little when he feels something at the base of his spine tighten. He wants to draw this out - just a little longer.

_This is our home. For real. Can you believe it? Would you have believed it if someone told you in high school?_

In high school? No. He wouldn’t have believed it. They were too scared, then - terrified, even of each other, of rejection. Unsure if they’d make it, unsure about everything. They didn’t know if their friends would leave them, if their families would, if their parents would kick them out. They only had each other, for a little while there. Them against the world. They didn’t know if they’d be okay.

And here they are. They’re okay. Somehow, everything turned out okay.

Will drops down on his elbows to lick an exploratory kiss into Mike’s mouth, and Mike takes the opportunity to brace Will’s hips in his hands and up their pace again. He pulls Will’s hips down to meet his thrusts, taking control, and Will just moans into the kiss. He thinks he may have pulled a muscle in one calf, but he can’t really feel it now. All he can feel is _Mike._

This time when sparkling energy laces down his spine, he wedges one arm between them and pumps a hand over his own length. Mike nods encouragement, breathing too hard to really speak, and snaps his hips up into him with increasingly hard and jagged strokes.

Will comes with a hard bite on Mike’s lower lip, hands trembling, body jolting once, twice before he melts. Mike follows mere heartbeats later.

Mike is the one that wrestles the blankets back into place and pulls them underneath. They’re sticky with drying lube and cum, and for one fleeting moment Will considers getting up to get a washcloth or something. He promptly decides he doesn’t care enough. It’s been a long day, and he’s tired.

“G’night,” he mumbles, and pulls a blanket over his head. “Wake me in never.”

Mike snuggles back into his arms with a tired sigh, taking the place of little spoon tonight, and Will tucks his nose into the curls at the back of his neck. Damp with sweat, now, as well as water. Underneath the smell of sex, they both smell like peaches. He huffs out a laugh.

“Night, Will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of prompts sitting in my ask box on Tumblr (they're almost all for smut) and now that my semester is over I've been trying to work through them. Here's the first! Please do let me know what you think.


End file.
